I’m running out of e-liquid. The quitting process is going slower but smoother than I had planned. I’m taking it easy, acting like it’s not a life or death situation. The preceptor won’t stop repeating that I live in the unavoidable death while not avoiding the death that I can avoid.

It’s all about insurance. I hope that I’m making myself clear on that point. I’ve got paperwork to fill out. I’m waiting on Musette. She’s waiting on something from her agent. We’ve got less than thirty days. My agent laughed at me. I don’t think that we’ll get it done in time, he’d said.

I’m just glad that we don’t have to worry about gestational diabetes. We have a doctor’s appointment right at the end of the month. I’m just hoping that nothing falls onto our calendars before my insurance kicks in. I’m praying that we get our paperwork in sooner rather than later. I don’t have much hope. The bathroom is still filthy. There’s a dinner in the freezer that I have been looking forward to making the last few days. But I did clip my nails. There may be hope for us yet. There may be hope for this poor, innocent child. It’s not just Musette and me that these medical bills will affect. We’ve got a helpless child in our ranks now. We have to take that into account. We can’t keep pretending to be children. We’re going to have to grow up.